Page 57 of Ruined

"You heard me." My voice drops lower. "Take your fucking clothes off. Now."

For a second I think she might tell me to go to hell. But then she sets down her violin—careful, always so fucking careful withit—and starts unbuttoning her shirt. Her fingers tremble slightly but her eyes never leave mine.

The shirt falls. Then her pants. She stands there in just her underwear and I can see her chest rising and falling faster.

I close the distance between us, reaching out to touch her face. She doesn't flinch. Doesn't move away.

"I want to be inside you more than anything right now," I tell her, my voice rough. "You know that?"

She nods, a small movement that sends heat straight through me.

I trail my finger down her neck, across her collarbone, between her breasts, and finally lower. When I reach between her legs I feel the wetness through the thin fabric.

"I knew you'd be wet." I press harder, watching her bite her lip. "I knew it the second I told you to take your clothes off."

A small sound escapes her, something between a gasp and a moan. It's the same sound she made last night when I first touched her. It's a sound that makes me crave to hear it again and again.

"Tell me to stop," I challenge her, my finger still moving against her. "Tell me you don't want this."

Instead of answering she reaches for me, pulling my head down to hers. Her kiss is hungry, desperate—nothing like the controlled woman who stood before me minutes ago.

I knew from the moment I saw her play that there was fire under all that discipline. Now I'm burning in it.

I back her against the wall, my hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave marks. She's clawing at my shirt, trying to get it off me while I'm already working her underwear down her legs.

I lift her and her legs wrap around my waist instantly. She's light—too fucking light—but strong. I can feel the muscles in her thighs from years of standing with that violin.

We barely make it to the bed. I drop her onto the mattress and she bounces once before I'm on top of her, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand.

"You're mine," I tell her, and I don't know if I'm trying to convince her or myself.

Her eyes flash. "No. I'm not."

I grin, loving her defiance even as I want to break it. "We'll see."

I reach for the nightstand drawer and pull out a condom. She watches me tear it open with my teeth, her flesh quivers with her chest rising and falling rapidly. When I roll it onto my solid length, her eyes follow my movements.

"Tell me you want this," I demand.

For a moment she says nothing. Then: "I want this. God help me, I want you."

That's all I need. I push into her in one hard thrust, and she arches beneath me, a cry tearing from her throat. I freeze, buried deep inside her, feeling her body adjust to mine.

"Noah," she says, and my name on her lips sounds like a prayer and a curse all at once.

I start to move, setting a punishing rhythm that has her gasping with each lunge of my pelvis. Her nails dig into my back and I know she's leaving weals. Good. I want them. I want to feel this tomorrow when I'm sitting across from Damiano, discussing war.

"Look at me," I command when her eyes flutter shut.

She opens them and there's something there—something beyond lust, beyond hate.

"That's it," I murmur, slowing my pace just to watch her squirm beneath me. "Stay with me."

I slide my hand between us, finding that spot that makes her whole body tense. I circle it with my thumb as I thrust deeper, harder.

"Noah, I'm—" She cuts off with a moan as her body starts to shake.

"Come for me," I tell her. "Let me feel you come around my cock."

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